


Midnight colors are singing

by Hyoushin



Series: blue winter roses [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: ...the suggestion her smell carried began to wake his body, notably the primal aspect he had had to adapt to. She knew that once aroused it would take all of her to pacify it.





	Midnight colors are singing

**Author's Note:**

> No excuse for this. Simply porn. Kinda animalistic and a bit rough but that was the point I think. Aside from that, the same old thing.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

Arya’s scent pervaded his chamber; nothing overbearingly sweet. It was natural, subdued and earthy-like. His feet halted as sharpened senses caught something like a piquant accent to it. Jon continued to divest himself of the outer layers of his attire, while the suggestion her smell carried began to wake his body, notably the primal aspect he had had to adapt to. She knew that once aroused it would take all of her to pacify it.

She knew. But fear was not a defining characteristic of hers since they found each other, years ago, blood-drenched and exhausted. The newness of their togetherness had dwindled, but there was always anticipation to revel in as she prowled out of the shadows with purpose. Outside, the clouds must have dispersed, for white light cut her in two along with the midnight gloom. Arya insinuated her body to his own. Nuzzled his chest slowly and hummed under her breath.

Jon buried his nose in her hair to have more of her and smiled. Though there weren’t many reasons to at present, she still had the power the coax the expression out of him. Thankfully, these days it didn’t seem that awkward on him like it sure did some time ago.

“Jon?” she said into the skin of his neck. Jon had felt her scrutiny during dinner, narrowing his attention to a single point, her, and butting everyone else aside.

She stretched against the length of him, feeling the distinct curves of her body through the thin shift she wore. Physically rather a far cry from the girl who had been his little sister, even though the woman she was now conserved the ghost of her, which surfaced in the moments she let herself be open and vulnerable.

Her eyes were an encompassing, latent storm as she released her lower lip from the worrying her teeth had done. Vivid red bloomed at the center and it effectively lured his gaze. It crossed his mind that she was often aware of what she was doing, but no longer behaving as though acting on a play, her advances flowing from her candid and uncontrived. Perhaps it didn’t hold much importance to her but it did make him wonder at times, wondered if one day he would be offered the missing stories.   

Arya sensed him slipping away, so with a rough press on the front of his breeches she anchored him back to her. “Arya!”

Quietly, she said, “Right here, stay with me. I need you now.” Arya nipped him on his jaw, then yanked Jon towards her to treat his left ear to another, harder nip as a show of insistence. Jon didn’t resist a low chuckle. Feeling strangely like himself—like how he probably was before—as he yielded himself to the proposition.

It took no effort to lift her by the waist. Arya yelped and instantly wrapped her legs around his hips, hands clutching his shoulders. They were almost at eye level like this; he retained his amusement and captured her lips until she had to jerk her head back to recover. She drew in air through lips parted, bruised, and glistening.

Jon’s eyes ranged from the beads of perspiration forming across her hairline, to the color on her cheeks, and the moonlight shimmer outlining half of her. He dipped his head, closed his mouth around her neck and sucked with a hint of aggression. Arya threw out a long groan, thrusting her lower body into his middle. An impatient hand tugged Arya’s shift up and slid in to gauge the state of her. His fingers caressed, then pushed in and out, working her up even more. Arya mewled and Jon promptly conveyed her to his, their, bed.

Jon inspected his hand and licked a sopping wet finger, while his other hand unlaced her garment to wholly cover a modest breast. He dived down, his mouth taking an already perked nub and smiled around it when he heard more husky groans. He headed down, towards the gathering saturated heat between her legs. A stroke with his tongue and Arya moaned her encouragement aloud and unrestrained. His fingers quickly wound tight around her thighs; they would leave bruises, Jon knew. On the morrow, her neck would carry his marks too.

Everyone must know. His fingers spread her wide, carefully went in deep. Pretenses were mattering less and less to them. Drank all of her up, savored her for a time with a teasing languor. After what they both had lived, apart from each other, hearsay was but an inconvenience. What Jon preferred to hear was here, springing from her lips, a barrage of sounds signaling her ecstasy.

Let them talk. Arya liked to say. Let them choke on their words.

Jon laid upon her, enclosed her slighter figure with his. She freed him with deft motions and accepted him, the entirety of what he was, drew everything inside of her and kept it secured. Arya placed her hands on his face and gazed into him. Urged him to move with her hips and Jon grasped what she offered willingly, the pleasure and the more elusive, indefinable things to be had in the in-between through the after.

A ravenous need drove him and locked him there. She gasped and panted as she held his head, one small hand transferring over to his heart. A pale beast within rumbled, you leave me and I’ll tear up this land over you. Find you, steal you and tie you to me. The faint reverberation of a howl rang out throughout the impression of a woodland blanketed by snow and cold.

Jon turned her over in one impulsive movement. His weight bore her down onto the bedding, his chest adhered to her back as his hips resumed snapping forwards. He picked up Arya’s helpless mewls and muted growls, saw how her hands searched for purchase, and it compelled him to hasten even if he wanted to last just a bit longer. To enjoy the wet tight slide she presented to him, to make it good for her as she made it good for him, to have her disarmed in this manner for as long as it was possible.

He wished for them to converge upon the same place and erase any way back, to discover a crack in their present to fall into and never emerge. His hands enfolded hers and it brought their faces closer, blended the air expelled. Jon lightly bit at her shoulder, grazed the reddening skin, to later move up to burrow his nose again in her hair.  

His desirous frenzy waxed to a maddening degree, but he remained fixed in place, not moving until teeming her with every pulsating wave of his climax. Pulling out, he stared at the overflowed tender edges. Jon touched her and felt her sigh and quiver. There was a future he desired to breed with his woman. Arya. Not so little anymore, are you. Jon thought he could see a gold spark in her knowing regard.

He arranged their bodies in a comfortable position on their featherbed, Arya soon slipped into a drowse, her head pillowed on his arm. Jon gave her a glance and perhaps, if he could fuse them together, he would. Jon breathed in the conjoined smells of their mating and felt completely full—as if he’d indulged in a most perfect feast.


End file.
